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THE  BOOK  OF  LOVE 


BY  BLANCHE  SHOEMAKER  WAGSTAFF 


ATYS 

THE  BOOK  OF  LOVE 
WOVEN  IN  DREAMS 
THE  SONG  OF  YOUTH 


THE  BOOK  OF  LOVE 


BY 
BLANCHE  SHOEMAKER  WAGSTAFP 


COPYRIGHT  1917  BY 
MITCHELL  KENNERLEY 


PRINTED  IN  AMERICA 


"I  have  attained  to  look  on  the  beqinnina 
of  Peace." 

DANTE. 

"Where  thou  goest  I  will  go;  where  thou 
lodgest,  I  will  lodge;  thy  people  shall  be  my 
people;  thy  God,  my  God." 

RUTH. 

"For  one  soul  is  living  in  two  bodies." 

MICHELANGELO. 


62S033 


THE   BOOK   OF  LOVE 

"JV/fY  heart  exults  with  the  Spring.  The  glow- 
ing  essences  of  earth  infuse  me.  I  am 
enveloped  in  celestial  harmony. 

I  hear  no  longer  the  discords  of  terrestrial 
life. 

I  am  in  tune  with  all  the  Universe. 

No  wind  of  God  has  the  glory  of  my  soul ! 

No  sea-melody  has  the  choristry  of  my  heart. 

The  flaming  wings  of  the  sun  are  mine. 

The  laughter  of  birds  is  my  chant  of  glad 
ness. 

I  am  upborne  upon  the  luminant  banners  of 
the  dawn. 

The  song  of  the  spring-pulsed  birds  is  the 
song  of  my  being. 

The  blithe  clouds  mirror  my  joy. 

I  am  liberated  in  loveliness.  Beatitude 
crowns  me,  and  the  serene  kisses  of  the  stars. 

I  am  incorporate  with  all  beauty. 

I  am  immortal. 

I  love. 


The  Book  of  Love 


TT7"HAT  hush  is  this  upon  my  soul? 

What     gladness     is     this     crowning 
me?  .  .  . 

O,  the  eyes  of  my  Beloved  are  the  sea  pools 
of  the  South ! 

O,  the  hands  of  my  Beloved  are  white  roses 
in  the  wind! 

O,  the  hair  of  my  Beloved  is  tawny  as  the 
autumn  sun! 

O,  the  cheek  of  my  Beloved  is  like  sudden 
blossoms  after  rain! 

O,  the  mouth  of  my  Beloved  is  like  the  fruit 
of  June! 

O,  the  teeth  of  my  Beloved  are  golden  as 
fresh  wheat! 

O,  the  breast  of  my  Beloved  is  whiter  than 
falling  snowflakes. 

O,  the  throat  of  my  Beloved  is  fairer  than 
amorous  doves  in  flight. 

O,  the  body  of  my  Beloved  is  like  a  reed  of 
hyacinth. 


The  Book  of  Love 


T  WALK  alone  and  cry  out  under  the  stars. 
As  one  in  a  desert  I  hunger  for 
refreshment. 

I  have  need  of  the  coolness  of  some  azure 
pool. 

O,  I  would  anoint  my  bosom  with  the  clear 
water! 

O,  I  would  immerse  myself  in  the  emulous 
depths ! 

O,  I  would  drink  of  ineffable  dreams. 

You,  Beloved,  are  the  silvery  lake  shimmer 
ing  in  the  desert  of  my  youth. 

You  only  can  allay  the  fever  of  my  spirit ! 

On  your  lips  I  shall  drain  the  fountain  of 
life. 

On  your  white  breast  I  shall  breathe  the  per 
fume  of  numberless  lilies. 

Therein  I  shall  die  a  thousand  deaths  and 
arise  reborn  in  the  awful  splendor  of  your 
love.  .  .  . 


The  Book  of  Love 


AY  your  hands, — softer  than  dove's  wings, 
•^  — in  my  hands  so  I  may  feel  your  young 
life  flowing  into  mine  thro'  your  finger-tips. 

Lay  your  eyes  upon  my  eyes  that  I  may 
grow  tremulous  beneath  the  flutter  of  your 
eyelids. 

Lay  your  heart  against  my  heart  that  I  may 
hear  your  love  summoning  me  to  forgetfulness. 

Lay  your  tresses  about  me  that  I  may  feel 
their  warm  sun  streaming  thro'  my  veins. 

Lay  your  mouth  on  my  mouth  until  all  dis 
solves  in  mist  about  me.  .  .  . 

(Is  it  life?    Is  it  death?) 


The  Book  of  Love 


are  as  a  million  birds  that  sing  unto 
my  heart,  O,  Beloved. 

Thro'  the  long  nights  I  hear  the  chanting  of 
blithe  voices. 

What  divine  minstrelsy!  What  ravish 
ment.  .  .  . 

Is  this  multitudinous  melody  the  rapture  of 
your  kiss? 

Come  to  me,  press  upon  my  brow  the  cool 
ness  of  your  young  lips  that  I  may  hear  the 
thunder  of  your  love  in  the  night.  .  .  . 


The  Book  of  Love 


\\7 HEN  will  it  end,  the  long  vigil.  .  .  . 

What   dawn  will  bring  you   forever 
unto  me,  O,  my  Beloved? 

Life  is  but  shadow. 

Only  you,  my  Beloved,  are  more  real  than 
shadow. 

Beneath  your  caresses  I  am  as  one  awakened 
unto  life. 

Your  finger-tips  bear  presage  of  divinity. 
Your  heart-beats  are  a  threnody  sublime. 

O,  Beloved,  you  are  as  a  white  nenuphar 
lifting  its  snowy  breast  on  a  stream.  In  your 
bosom  are  all  the  treasures  of  Elysium.  The 
scent  of  your  skin  is  like  jasmine  and  honey 
suckle. 

Why  is  such  loveliness  withheld  from  me, 
O,  Beloved? 

When  can  I  look  upon  you  and  say:  "Be 
hold!  all  this  beauty  is  mine  forever." 

When  will  it  end,  the  long  vigil.  .  .  . 


The  Book  of  Love 


r\    MIRACLE  of  love! 

^'S         You  whom  I  adore  unto  delirium, 

Your  arms  are  white  lilies  upon  my  bosom. 

Stars  encircle  me  when  your  lips  lean  down 
to  mine.  There  is  the  sound  of  many  waters 
falling.  There  is  the  murmur  of  a  million 
nightingales, — and  the  flash  of  brilliant  light 
ning. 

Caress  celestial! 

Moon-path  of  my  dreams! 

O,  miracle  of  Love — my  divinity  and  my 
crucifixion.  .  . 


The  Book  of  Love 


T  N  the  presence  of  my  Beloved  I  am  as  one 
•*•  sanctified.  He  is  the  chrism  wherein  I  am 
cleansed  and  hallowed. 

Looking  upon  him  my  spirit  swells  with  joy. 

To  die  for  him! 

To  fill  myself  with  his  incomparable  beauty. 

To  bathe  in  the  libation  of  his  tears. 

To  kiss  his  feet  in  silent  rapture. 

Multiple  is  his  loveliness. 

Hearing  his  voice,  I  am  transported  with 
delight. 

He  is  my  shrine;  he  sheds  upon  me  the  in 
effable  splendor  of  eternity. 

Together  our  two  spirits  are  touched  by  the 
wing-tips  of  the  Infinite.  .  .  . 


The  Book  of  Love 


HEN  the  young  moon  silvers  the  sky,  the 

earth  is  ours. 
We  shall  go  into  the  forest  and  wander  in 
the  shadow  of  the  pines. 

I  shall  cover  you  with  leaves,  and  we  shall 
lie  on  the  soft  moss  entwined  like  sisters. 

And  all  the  while  I  will  know  that  the  fra 
grance  of  your  skin  is  sweeter  to  me  than  the 
perfume  of  a  million  roses.  .  .  . 


io  The  Book  of  Love 


T    ET  me  enfold  you  in  my  hair. 

••— '        Let  me  wind  you  as  in  a  golden  skein. 

Give  me  the  curve  of  your  throat,  milky 
white  and  rose,  that  I  may  place  about  it  the 
glossy  fillets  of  my  hair. 

Don  it  as  a  shining  mantilla.  .  .  . 

Let  my  hair  shower  about  you  until  you  are 
radiant  with  perfume; 

Let  it  ripple  over  you  like  the  wind  on  sum 
mer  wheat. 

Then  give  me  your  lips  that  we  may  stand 
united  beneath  the  downpour  of  its  sunlight. 

Let  us  be  intermingled  as  two  trees  that  have 
but  one  single  root.  .  .  . 


The  Book  of  Love  II 


T    TREMBLE  at  the  sight  of  my  Beloved. 
•^  For  he  is  the  handicraft  of  god. 

He  is  the  miracle  of  all  beauty  which  is  love. 

To  look  upon  him  is  to  be  blest. 

To  hear  his  voice  is  to  be  transported  unto 
beatitude. 

Wherefore  do  I  desire  the  happiness  of  my 
Beloved  more  than  my  own?  .  .  . 


The  Book  of  Love  13 


TELL  me  that  all  your  beauty  is  for  me 
alone. 

I  gaze  upon  you,  white  as  a  pillar  of  ivory, — 
your  limbs  supple  and  firm,  your  arms  moulded 
like  April  lilies,  your  feet  fragrant  and  cool  like 
a  curved  shell,  your  lips  like  ripe  fruit. 

Tell  me  that  all  this  beauty  is  for  me  alone ! 

Your  laughter  like  the  warbling  of  birds, 
your  hair  like  the  tawny  meadow  grasses,  your 
glorious  youth  golden  as  honeycomb. 

Tell  me  that  all  this  beauty  is  for  me 
alone. 


14  The  Book  of  Love 


*  I A  O  love  you  like  the  midnight  storm ! 

To  take  you  swooning  unto  death  as 
the  wind  sweeps  the  waves  in  tempest! 

To  transport  you  unto  delirium ! 

To  hear  the  wild  beating  of  your  veins;  to 
feel  flame  shuddering  your  blood  and  to  agon 
ize  you  with  my  ardor. 

To  crush  you  as  a  flower  upon  my  breast, 

To  bear  you  away  to  some  secret  valley 
where  I  would  love  you  unto  insensibility.  .  .  . 


The  Book  of  Love  15 


to  me,  Beloved. 

We  will  go  to  the  meadows  and  lie 
beneath  the  willow  trees. 

We  will  eat  of  honey  like  the  bees  and  hunt 
for  humming  birds  in  the  sunlight. 

I  will  make  for  you  a  crown  of  daisies;  I 
will  strew  at  your  feet  asphodel  and  roses. 

Come  to  me,  Beloved.  .  .  . 

We  will  go  to  the  meadows  and  walk  beside 
a  shimmering  stream;  we  will  bathe  in  the 
amber  water.  I  will  take  you  shivering  into  the 
cool  eddies  of  a  shadowy  pool;  I  will  lave  your 
body  with  the  sparkling  drops;  they  will  fall 
upon  you  like  bright  diamonds. 

And  your  thighs  will  be  a  white  birch  rising 
out  of  the  dark  waters. 

Come  to  me,  Beloved.  .  .  . 

We  will  walk  amid  the  swirling  currents  of 
the  stream  and  my  kisses  will  be  the  wind  upon 
your  bosom,  shining  in  the  midday  sun 
light.  .  .  . 


1 6  The  Book  of  Love 


LOSE  your  eyes  upon  the  world,  Beloved ! 
I  would  have  you  blind  unto  all  things 
save  my  love. 

I  would  have  you  no  longer  possess  any 
image  but  mine. 

I  would  have  you  live  only  within  the  radi 
ance  of  my  smile. 

I  would  have  you  seal  me  within  the  sanc 
tuary  of  your  heart  where  we  would  dwell 
inviolate  together. 

I  would  have  you  surrounded  by  an  intermi 
nable  darkness,  lit  only  by  the  moonstar  of  my 
love! 

I  would  then  be  no  longer  jealous  of  your 
thoughts,  of  your  silence,  of  the  rose  you  hold 
in  your  hand,  of  the  bird  you  watch  soaring  into 
the  sky.  .  .  . 

Be  blind  to  all  that  is  not  our  love ! 

Close  your  eyes  upon  the  world,  Beloved ! 

Together  we  shall  pass  into  the  interminable 
night.  .  .  . 


The  Book  of  Love  17 


T  F  I  think  of  you,  I  quiver  from  head  to  foot. 
If  I  think  of  you  tears  flood  my  eyes. 

If  I  pass  you  my  heart  quickens  to  suffocation 
and  the  blood  seems  to  leave  my  body. 

If  I  look  into  your  eyes  a  sudden  fire  burns 
in  my  veins. 

If  I  touch  you  I  am  as  one  possessed  with 
madness ;  my  arms  tremble  and  my  limbs  totter 
beneath  me. 

To  love  you  is  to  suffer  the  pangs  of  an 
intolerable  agony. 


1 8  The  Book  of  Love 


T  OVE  me,  O  Beloved;  not  with  laughter, 
•*— '  song  or  flowers,  but  with  your  silence  and 
your  tears.  .  .  . 

Let  me  respire  the  beauty  of  this  immortal 
moment. 

Lie  in  my  arms  as  a  child  in  the  arms  of  a 
mother. 

Be  not  afraid;  tremble  not  beneath  my 
caresses.  Let  my  tenderness  penetrate  you 
like  the  aroma  of  honeysuckle. 

Love  me  not  with  laughter,  song  or  flowers, 
but  with  your  silence  and  your  tears. 


The  Book  of  Love  19 


T  IFE,  I  laugh  at  you,  for  have  I  not  the  lips 
•*-'  of  my  Beloved? 

Sorrow,  I  am  unafraid  of  you,  for  have  I  not 
the  dove-soft  bosom  of  my  Beloved? 

Death,  I  welcome  you,  for  have  I  not  the 
warm  arms  of  my  Beloved? 

Visit  me,  Death! 

Have  I  not  the  caresses  of  my  Beloved?  I 
drink  upon  his  lips  the  coolness  of  the  stars. 

I  breathe  eternal  beauty  at  the  fount  of  his 
love. 

Pass,  Life,  pass.  .  .  . 

(Death,  I  defy  you,  for  have  I  not  the  kisses 
of  my  Beloved?) 


2O  The  Book  of  Love 


~D  ELOVED,  tell  me  something  you  have 
•*-*  never  told  another. 

Let  us  go  before  the  white  throne  of  the  stars 
and  open  each  to  the  other  the  innermost  story 
of  our  hearts. 

I  will  lie  at  your  feet,  my  eyes  mirrored  in 
your  eyes. 

I  will  gaze  into  the  secret  recesses  of  your 
being  as  in  the  deep  crystal  of  a  shining 
pool. 

And  you  will  reveal  to  me  some  secret  you 
would  deny  your  God.  .  .  . 

I  will  hear  from  your  lips  what  you  have 
never  dared  to  tell  another. 


The  Book  of  Love  21 


T  T  is  night  and  I  am  alone. 

There  is  nothing  but  the  moaning  of  the 
wind  in  the  lattice.  .  .  . 

When  will  be  poured  for  me  the  living  gob 
let  of  your  mouth  wherein  I  shall  drink  your 
soul,  sweeter  to  me  than  the  waters  of  a  sum 
mer  pool? 

It  is  cold. 

When  will  be  given  me  the  warm  light  of 
your  eyes,  the  mother-of-pearl  lamp  like  a  moon 
hung  in  the  Heavens  of  our  love? 

The  wind  cries  and  I  am  alone.   .  .  . 

(Beloved,  why  do  you  not  come  to  me?) 


22  The  Book  of  Love 


•T\ARKNESS. 

•^-^        Silence  that  weeps  in  my  heart. 

Ashes  on  my  hearth  and  the  cry  of  a  lonely 
bird  at  the  window. 

The  trees  that  shiver  in  the  wind. 

Darkness. 

And  youth  passing  by — 

.  .  .  To  listen  and  hear  no  footstep.  .  .  . 


The  Book  of  Love  23 


r  I  A  HERE  are  no  words  that  can  express  our 
•*•  love,  O,  my  Beloved. 

There  is  no  beauty  to  proclaim  its  awful  joy. 

There  are  no  songs  tender  enough  to  reveal 
its  sorrow. 

For  I  have  respired  you  like  a  wild  rose,  O, 
my  Beloved. 

I  have  drunk  of  you  as  of  some  cool  well- 
water. 

I  have  clasped  you  about  me  like  a  circlet  of 
flowers. 

I  have  knelt  before  you,  my  hands  in  your 
hands,  my  temples  beating  against  your  temples. 

And  with  silence  I  have  told  you  of  my  ado 
ration. 


24  The  Book  of  Love 


OLEEP,  Beloved,  with  my  kisses  still  warm 
^  upon  your  lips. 

Sleep,  Beloved,  with  your  white  arms  crossed 
in  the  candlelight. 

Sleep,  Beloved,  with  the  hyacinth  of  your 
breasts  beside  me. 

Sleep,  Beloved,  while  I  watch  in  silent  won 
derment. 

Sleep,  Beloved,  miracle  of  loveliness. 

Sleep,  Beloved,  while  your  tranquil  beauty 
fills  me  with  longing. 

Sleep,  Beloved.  (Do  you  love  me  in  your 
dreams?) 


The  Book  of  Love  25 


me  that  always  you  will  be  awaiting 
me  in  the  silence. 

Tell  me  that  always  your  love  will  glow  like 
the  eternal  stars. 

Tell  me  that  always  you  will  thirst  for  my 
tenderness. 

Tell  me  that  always  you  will  tremble  at  the 
sound  of  my  footfall. 

Tell  me  that  always  the  white  moon  of  our 
love  will  shimmer  in  the  Heavens. 

Tell  me  that  never  will  I  seek  amidst  all 
faces  for  the  one  face  that  conies  not.  .  .  . 


26  The  Book  of  Love 


"V7"OU  are  as  a  carved  vase  of  myrrh,  my 
Beloved,  whose  sweetness  I  gaze  upon  with 
wonderment. 

When  you  kneel  before  me  in  supplication, 
your  lips  and  eyelids  quivering,  you  pour  at  my 
feet  the  ambrosia  of  your  love. 

Kneel,  kneel,  Beloved.  Nestle  against  me, 
your  hair  wound  like  ivy  about  my  ankles — 
your  cheek  against  my  hands. 

Rest,  Beloved,  I  will  respire  your  silent  love 
liness. 

I  will  close  your  eyes  with  a  thousand 
kisses. 


— .— 


The  Book  of  Love  27 


TXT" HERE  are  you  when  my  cheeks  are  wan, 
my  veins  beat  and  my  eyes  burn  from 
ceaseless  weeping? 

Where  are  you  when  my  seeking  hands  reach 
for  you  in  the  great  shadows? 

Where  are  you  when  longing  seizes  me  like 
madness  and  my  heart  flutters  in  my  throat? 

Where  are  you  when  my  lips  cry  your  name 
in  the  silence? 

When  your  image  possesses  me  like  flame, 
where  are  you,  O,  my  Beloved?  .  .  .' 


28  The  Book  of  Love 


T  HOLD  your  face  between  my  hands  shim- 
mering  like  a  moonstone. 

Thro'  my  fingers  filters  the  pure  gold  of 
your  hair. 

I  gaze  upon  the  languor  of  your  drooping 
eyes  lit  with  fire. 

I  touch  your  throat  of  milky  whiteness. 

I  kiss  the  nape  of  your  neck,  dewy  and  fra 
grant  as  a  summer  rose. 

As  a  god  might  fold  in  his  arms  the  glory  of 
the  earth,  so  I  hold  within  my  hands  all  the 
wealth  and  splendor  of  the  world. 

.  .  .  Beloved,  are  you  not  the  most  wonder 
ful  of  treasures? 


30  The  Book  of  Love 


T    SEE  you  coming  toward  me.  .  .  . 

•*•  Silently  you  take  me  in  your  arms. 

Our  lips  meet  and  our  eyes  close. 

I  feel  the  shuddering  of  your  breast  and  the 
beating  of  your  throat  against  mine. 

We  are  enveloped  in  darkness. 

We  know  nothing  but  the  thunder  of  our 
veins.  .   .  . 

We   are   swept  out  unto   a   sea   of  infinite 
oblivion. 


The  Book  of  Love  31 


TT7"AS  it  the  shimmer  of  death  that  summer 
**  night,  or  the  glory  of  a  million  falling 
stars  ? 

You  held  me  sobbing  in  your  arms.  My  cries 
were  as  the  moaning  of  one  dying. 

O  Love!     O  Death!     Majestic  brothers! 

O  pang  of  too  much  loveliness!  O,  fugi 
tive  perfection! 

You  drank  my  tears,  Beloved. 

Divine  unction  of  beauty. 

(Drink,  Beloved,  drink  that  we  may  feel 
again  the  anguish  of  our  immeasurable  love!) 


THE   END 


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